From the moment you are processed to the moment you have their tools in your hands there is never a period of time where their eyes are not looming on you. Every single fur recognizes this as they feel the aching pain in the center of their hand from their machinations; from their device. Raz didn't know this as he stood in his post, towering over the fate of others that he had barely avoided so many years before. He was told that being the hunter was better than being the hunted, but he wasn't so sure. He had been here for eleven years and he kept dwelling on the feeling of discontent he felt in his stomach. How many people had he shot to seal their fate? How many people had he been asked to help track down for his keen eyes? He wasn't sure. However, what he did know was he had to disconnect himself as the days went on or else he would've lost himself by now. He would've snapped. But there was enough in his heart that still screamed and it reminded him that he still contained a soul. The canine looked down at the camp through the scope of his gun and looked at the men and women below. There were many trapped in a hell that they had to live through and he wasn't sure who had it the worst. There were the ones who went into the caves, some that wouldn't return. The others in the quarry making their dues through exhausting force, and the ones who maintained machines but always with a barrel at their back... there were many to pity. But to give them pity was a sentence of death on any slaver's role. Raz didn't want to be a slaver, but he had come to terms of what he needed to do to survive and in this barren canyon... that is what he needed to do, it's what they all needed to do."The hopelessness takes time to settle in, it really does. The air of forced isolation, your independence stricken from you very fingertips; removed, gone. The anxiety of knowing the life you once held would never be yours again drives you to a bleak madness and despite all of who you were and who you could of been you have a reminder that is stronger than any ambition. There will be a mania here beneath The Terror's feet and despite the cliche of that name they chose it for a reason, they chose it because it fit them. You could run and fail; you could succeed for a time, only to be brought back in fervor. I've seen them dragged back and executed to just make a point and when I first saw that visual declaration of control I lost it. They strip you down to who they want you to be and they won't let you have it any other way. Who are we but worms, anyway? That is what they pry into your head and after the amount of time I've been here... I get it. We are nothing once they have claimed us."
- Doran Karek
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FEMALE SLAVE LINE-UP
It was an odd day to have visitors, especially visitors that would not becoming slaves themselves. But it was no surprise as The Terror found themselves owning a very unique asset. This brought these non-slave guests who were assumed to be collectors, merchants, or gamblers; none of these were particularly pleasant, but many slaves knew when these "folk" would come in that their time in hell could be downgraded to prison; and when given the choice between prison and hell, the former usually beat out the latter. The merchant who came forward was suited well and prepared as his entourage was an accumulation of eight armed men and these men did not lack for quality firepower at all. These men and their employer spoke words to the "founder" or "commander" of the camp, Kandhert Tulfer. It wasn't often you saw Kandhert stroll from his place inside air conditioning and safety to the arid dregs of the compound, but there he was. They exchanged words for a good few minutes before Kandhert motioned to one of his men.
"I want a line-up of all of the... fairer females we have." Kandhert believed he'd get a 'collector' sale out of this merchant and through the restrained apathy there was a childlike excitement to his voice. His guard would soon return with those he thought acceptable; maybe ten to twelve for the line-up.
SLAVE FIGHT PEN
While this occurred on the other side of the camp stood one of the higher guards, Lazo Khent, as he stared down the local entertainment for the moment; two slaves going at it. One promised double rations for a week if he thrashed the other slave. It was a battle to the death and with their bare hands. Lazo laughed as the fenced off fight was to begin shortly as his comrades began to take bets on the outcome of the fight. Then again this one was to be rather unfair as one of the slaves had supposed claws that could "rip a mech apart", so in a gesture of good faith they gave the other guy a lead pipe.
"That Grazon is still going to tear him apart." Lazo chuckled to another guard as they looked onward.
The last thing of worth going on at the camp was mundane by comparison; a slaver was trying to pry more information out of one of the slaves who took up the "seeker path" before his capture. The information leading up to a horde of quality metal and old world supply was desired and to the slaver it could be the difference between a promotion or dragging ass for ten more years. However, the ex-seeker wasn't being as helpful as he would of liked.
"Listen, Eli." he began, saying the "vampiric" wolf's name with a tone of condescending discontent before continuing on. "You do this for me and you'll have double rations and a better bunk for a whole month! It's a sure thing if you can help me. C'mon, I've never beat you or lied to you, do this for me."